Aftershocks
by ceilidh65
Summary: An alternative ending to Silent Night. Tim McGee's life is in danger. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize it - and neither does anyone else. As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!


Aftershocks by ceilidh

A/N: Hello again, all, and welcome to my latest story.

This was written for the NFA "Tim In Peril" Challenge. It's an alternative 'missing scene' ending to the sixth season episode Silent Night.

Poor Tim took one hell of a hit from that Taser, and he's still in trouble from it. Unfortunately, he doesn't realize how seriously - and neither does anyone else.

Spoilers for Silent Night, of course, and reference to SWAK, Bloodbath, Meat Puzzle, Dog Tags and About Face.

As always, I hope you enjoy - please R&R if you do!!

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Aftershocks

Just after his third birthday, Tim McGee had learned, the hard way, how electricity worked. He'd learned that curiously poking fingers did _not_ go into live sockets. He'd also learned that electricity hurt.

A lot.

The pain he'd felt then was nothing, though, against the waves of agony that were hitting him now. From near point blank range, two barbs carrying thirty thousand volts had hit him square in the chest.

If those barbs had been bullets, he'd be dead already. His heart would be a mess of bloodied mush. Then again, Tim couldn't be sure that he _wasn_'_t_ dead, as mind-breaking pain seared into his senses.

Staggering backwards, on legs that suddenly refused to support him, he then felt himself fall – landing, painfully briefly, on something hard and metallic, before he crashed to the ground. With no means to stop himself, he then landed, _hard_, on slabs of uncompromising concrete – that jarring impact nothing against the spasms of agony that continued to jolt through his body.

He couldn't stop it. Couldn't fight it. Most terrifying of all, he couldn't even protest against it. He could only lie helpless, in this tortuous hell - pleading for help that, to his horror, refused to come. Every attempt he made to speak, to find help to escape it, came out as senseless gibberish.

_Someone_ was speaking, though. Through waves of pure agony, _someone_ was speaking to him. A familiar voice, one he knew he should recognize, was telling him to do the physically impossible.

'_Just breathe through it-_'

Breathe through it? _Breathe_ through it?!? Who the hell was DiNozzo trying, so glibly, to kid?

Why was he standing there, just _standing_ there, while _he_ lay here, in agony, silently screaming?

'_Tony_, _help me_! _For God_'_s_ _sake_, _help me_!!'

"Tttttnnnn-ggggsssss-hhhhhmmmmm-eeeee…"

Horrified that so much painful effort should be so cruelly wasted, _and_ ignored, Tim closed his eyes – dimly aware of running footsteps, and another familiar voice beside him, barking out furious orders.

"Tony, no, don't touch those barbs, they're still live. Use that pole. Keep yourself grounded-"

Silence and stillness, for what felt like eternity, before a flurry of movement erupted around him. The end of something hard jabbed at his chest, as if trying to hook out the hammering heart inside it.

Seconds that felt like hours later, the jabbing stopped, and a gently firm hand gripped his shoulder – the voice that now called _both_ his names as anxious for a response as it was impossible to ignore.

"McGee? _McGee_! Tim, can you hear me?"

Oh, he'd heard him, alright. It was just the whole answering thing that was still proving beyond him. He had to do _something_, though, or Gibbs was gonna get even more pissed at him than he was already, and –

"_Tim_!!"

– yeah, whether from your real dad, or his irascible stand-in, you _never_ ignored _that_ tone of voice.

With what felt, to him, like superhuman effort, Tim finally managed to force his eyes open – blinking in surprise, then disdainful anger, for the hand that now deigned to offer him help. So DiNozzo had finally decided to help him, had he? Well, he was too damn late for that.

He'd had good reason, of course, to stand back, to not touch him, but – well, right now, Tim McGee couldn't see it. All he saw instead was the hurt on Tony's face, as the offer of that hand was glared furiously away – its concern mirrored on another face, in another voice, as Gibbs helped him, very gently, to sit up.

"You okay, McGee?"

No, he felt far from okay. But masculine pride, even for Tim McGee, was an irresistible master. He'd called Harvey's bluff like the greenest damn rookie, and had paid its painful consequences. Maybe that was why, against his better judgement, he ignored what his body was trying to tell him.

'…_too fast… too fast… too fast… too fast_…'

Maybe that was why, against his still jack-hammering heart, his voice sounded so faint. So funny.

"Ye – Yeah, boss, 'm – 'm 'kay, jus'… just kinda woozy-"

Maybe that was why Gibbs stared at him, so sceptically. He clearly wasn't buying it either. Even without the '_like-hell-you-are_' glare that followed… yeah, he knew he was far from okay. As Gibbs and Ziva helped him, gently slowly, to his feet, Tim McGee knew he was _not_ okay. At all.

His heart was still trying to hammer its way out of his chest. Still beating out a desperate warning.

'…_too fast_… _too fast_... _too fast_… _too fast_…'

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You could learn a lot by watching. And right now, Jethro Gibbs didn't like what he was seeing. Reflected in his rear view mirror, Tim McGee was still in too much pain, his face still much too pale. And you didn't need to be a doctor to notice the unnatural, laboured raggedness of his breathing.

He'd loosened another button on his shirt, too, so that he could rub his chest more easily – two welts of reddened skin between his fingers another stark reminder of that Taser's brutal accuracy. Taking that hit at such close range, and on its full charge – hell, no wonder the kid was still feeling it.

The only plus side, and a precious one, was that his perennial protector was sitting beside him – the strength of a very special friendship bringing Tony DiNozzo back into Tim McGee's favour.

Once his senses had cleared, he'd understood why the help he'd needed so badly hadn't come sooner. If Tony had reacted on his heart instead of his head, and touched those barbs while they were live – well, as Tim had dazedly realized, he'd have caught their current too, _and_ suffered the consequences. And however much pain and distress he'd been in, his probie could never stand for that.

By the time they'd reached the car, that little misunderstanding had been thankfully resolved – Tony's offer to ride shotgun with him in the back seen for the silent apology that it truly was.

Even so, the unhealthy greyness on that probie's face, his obvious pain, was really worrying him – those big brother instincts hitting protective overdrive now, as he gently squeezed Tim's arm.

"You okay, probie?"

Squinting back at him, through worryingly glassy eyes, Tim dredged up a less than convincing smile – the disjointed words that finally followed causing a threeway exchange of anxious glances.

"Yeah, T-Tony, I'm fine, I… I jus' need t-to get my breath back-"

Every one of those words had been painfully laboured – the last three a barely audible whisper. More alarmingly, all of Tim McGee's strength, and his colour, was rapidly deserting him – his eyes closing, his head dropping back against the seat behind him, as he struggled to breathe.

Long before Tony's anxious glance reached him, Gibbs was acting on that famous gut instinct – telling Tim McGee, as gently calmly as he could, why they were taking an unscheduled detour.

"Just heading for Bethesda, Tim. I think we'd better get you checked out, okay?"

A shaky nod of agreement was a promising sign – a deepening wince its worrying opposite. And when a strangled gasp of pain followed, then another, it set three sets of alarm bells ringing. That much pain, and a frantic hand clutching the centre of his chest, meant only one thing. Tim McGee was really in trouble now, _serious_ trouble, and they had to get to Bethesda.

Fast.

Luckily they were only two miles away from one of the best hospitals in the city – and one of DC's best drivers was going to set a new speed record to get them there.

Gibbs now floored the gas pedal, while Tony's arm shot just as instinctively sideways – cradling Tim against his chest, protecting him as best he could, as the sedan slewed beneath them.

With breathtaking calm, Ziva was already calling ahead to Bethesda's emergency unit – that calm tested, to its limit, by the terrifying, and terrified, gasp from the seat behind her.

"C-Can't breathe! T-Tony, I – I can'… can' breathe!!"

It took something pretty drastic to leave Tony DiNozzo lost for those famously wisecracking words. Two stricken green eyes, and a face contorted in helpless agony, had left him speechless now.

His probie, the closest thing to a little brother that he'd ever have, was possibly dying, right here, and – no, he tried to frantically convince himself, this couldn't be happening, it just could _not_ be happening.

It was, though. Another strangled gasp for air, another clenching grip on his hand, told him that. And as two terrified eyes stared up into his own, Tony DiNozzo finally re-found his voice – comforting and cajoling him in equal measure as tears of helpless pain and terror rolled down his face

"Yes, you can, Tim. C'mon, kid, breathe with me here… in, out… in, out… yeah, attaboy, that's it… yeah, that's it, probie, nice and steady… in, out… that's it, Tim, we're almost there, just hold on-"

To his relief, the tremors were already starting to ease. The terror and pain was also leaving Tim's face. That relief was cruelly short, though, as Tim's body fell slack in his arms, his head rolling sideways onto his shoulder – prompting him to frantically shout six words that he'd never imagined he would ever say.

"Damn it, boss, _step_ on it!!!"

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Hindsight, it was said, was a wonderful thing. Right now, though, Tony DiNozzo would disagree.

A stressed out mind, and its fraught imagination, was no place for ask clichéd '_if only-_' questions – especially when you already knew it was too late, and pointless, to do anything differently now. Through another quirk of human nature, though, he found himself asking that '_if only-_' anyway.

"If – If I'd just got those barbs off him sooner, boss, if I'd yanked them off, as soon as they hit him-"

"…then _you_'_d _be in that emergency room too, Tony-" Gibbs finished for him, equally quietly – pausing for a moment, choosing his next words with the same care, as he patted Tony's shoulder.

"You told Tim that yourself, remember? And Tim said you were right _not_ to touch him-"

"Gibbs is right, Tony," Ziva agreed, briskly continuing before Tony, or Gibbs, could intervene. "That current would still have been strong enough to incapacitate you as much as it did McGee-"

Knowing better than to argue, knowing it was pointless to even try, Tony just nodded instead – the need for thought-distracting movement sending him, yet again, towards Trauma Room Two.

An hour ago, he'd watched Tim McGee, lying lifeless on a gurney, crash through its doors – a flurry of shouted medical terms left in his wake, as those doors had slammed shut behind him.

Curiosity had compelled him to look one of those terms up on his Blackberry. He'd wished he hadn't.

'_Arrhythmia_. _Abnormal heartbeat_. _Usually harmless_, _but in extreme cases can cause cardiac arrest-_'

He couldn't bring himself to read any more. His imagination was running wildly enough already. Instead he'd switched the Blackberry off, silently promising his probie that he'd _never_ tease him again.

That had been sixty three minutes ago – and this terrifying wait for news was driving him nuts.

"Damn it, what's taking them so long?" he said at last, striding back to rejoin Gibbs and Ziva. "He's been in there for over an hour now, and no-one's come to tell us _anything-_!"

He wasn't expecting a reply, of course – but an unmistakeable voice still gently obliged him.

"Because, Anthony, arrhythmia is a delicate, _and_ difficult, condition to treat-"

Met with three surprised but openly relieved faces, Ducky then smiled soothingly back at them – his welcome calmness in striking contrast to the pigtailed tornado that now swept into Gibbs' arms.

"Tell me he's gonna be okay, Gibbs, just – just tell me he's gonna be okay-"

Freeing himself, with difficulty, from Abby's stranglehold grip, Gibbs glanced quizzically sideways – allowing himself a slight smile for the '_could-__you__-have-stopped-her_?' shrug he received in response.

"Abby was… um, with me, Jethro, when I received your call-" Ducky explained just as dryly – leaving a still smiling Gibbs to fill in the blanks, and comfort his surrogate daughter, as only he could.

"He'll be okay, Abs. He's in the best place, you know that. And he's going to be okay-"

Rewarded, eventually, with a muffled sniff and nodding pigtails, Gibbs glanced back at Ducky – so grateful that, until Tim McGee's doctor came to brief them, _their_ doctor could at least pave the way. Answering their questions would, at least, ease the fearful uncertainty of stressed-out imaginations. And if anyone could tell them all about arrhythmia, _and_ its treatment – yes, it would _always_ be Ducky.

Before he could, though, the Trauma Room doors opened, and a green-scrubbed doctor strode out – meeting five suddenly anxious faces with the reassuring smile that was so unique to his profession.

"Agent Gibbs for Tim McGee?" he asked, approaching Gibbs with the same uncanny, person-in-charge accuracy. "I'm Dr Hill, I'm in charge of Agent McGee's care, and… well, first off, he's going to be okay-"

Waiting for the relieved euphoria to die down, the doctor then smiled as he gently told them the rest.

"He took one hell of a hit from that Taser, though, and it knocked his heart out of its normal rhythm. Unfortunately, the medication we normally use to correct it wasn't enough to fully revert it, so… well, as ironic as it sounds, we had to shock his heart again, with a defibrillator, to make it beat properly. That's why we've been so long in there, it was… well, quite a fight to get him safely stabilised-"

As three faces beside him fell in fresh alarm, Gibbs quietly voiced what all of them had to know.

"But he's stable _now_, doctor? He _will_ be alright?"

Clearly used to this reaction, Dr Hill smiled back at him, answering him with the same soothing calm.

"Yes, Agent Gibbs, he'll make a full recovery. We just need to monitor him for a few more days, but he's going to be fine-"

Anticipating the much happier reaction to what he said next, he then grinned around five hopeful faces

"He'll sleep 'til tomorrow anyway, from the sedation we've given him, but if you'd like to see him-"

Just as he'd expected, five smiles grew happily broader as he led them out of the waiting room. He couldn't save _every_ life, of course, but for every one that he _could_ bring back from the brink – yes, just like this moment, knowing you'd saved that one precious life was the best feeling in the world.

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Their smiles had inevitably vanished. Abby's horrified face had whitened beyond its familiar pale. Seeing her precious Timmy lying there, hooked up to all those wires and monitors, had been too much.

She'd accepted Ducky's reassuring hug in helpless tears, gladly letting him lead her from Tim's room – leaving Gibbs, Tony and Ziva to stand at Tim's bedside, and study him in stunned, shaken silence.

Dr Hill had gently told them what to expect – assuring them that what they'd see was perfectly normal. Seeing it for real, though, wasn't so easy to take in, or accept. All of them were silently horrified.

This wasn't the Tim McGee they all knew so well. Not a surrogate son. Not a shared, surrogate brother. Lying still and silent, in a carefully enforced sleep to heal him, this was his sick and injured shell.

He was on oxygen, of course, to help his breathing, but everything else around him was… wrong. All these wires and tubes around him, all these pads stuck on his chest, was just so damn _wrong_.

Gibbs' covert glance around him had read the same thought on two equally grim, unsmiling faces. Tim McGee was too young, too strong, too full of energy and life, to be on a damn heart monitor.

The only comfort Gibbs could offer himself, again shared in grateful silence, was the signal upon it – a steady green line, beeping and blipping its way across the screen, in a reassuringly normal rhythm. A once deathly grey face held signs of improvement, too – its cheeks tinged with healthier colour. And even with the IV line that led into it, Tim McGee's left arm held the most precious sign of all – the warmth beneath three gently squeezing hands telling three anxious friends all they needed to know.

Tim McGee was _alive_. He was going to be alright. That simple fact alone was all that mattered.

He needed rest, though. He needed this carefully controlled sleep to heal what he'd been through – another of Dr Hill's quiet warnings causing Gibbs' smile to fade now, as he straightened Tim's hair.

The tachycardia that he'd suffered would have been every bit as traumatic as a full scale heart attack. He'd need time to heal from it. Support that, Gibbs now guiltily reflected, hadn't always been there.

When Tony had caught that plague, in fact every time he got hurt, he'd known that his team _cared_. It was the same for Abby, for Ziva, for Ducky. Hell, even Palmer too, knew that he was cared about.

But for the thankfully few times that Tim McGee had been hurt, especially when Jethro had mauled him – well, Gibbs realized through an increasingly troubled conscience, it had been inexplicably different.

There'd been jokes and insensitive razzing about the dangers of rabies – but precious little concern. Maybe that was why he'd looked so surprised when, rather too late to matter, _someone_ had shown it.

I should have asked if he was okay when it happened, Gibbs sadly reflected, _not_ half a day later.

Then again, the startled nod that had eventually answered that concern wasn't that much of a surprise. Yes, the boy _hated_ to be fussed over. Hell, he had an independent streak that could reach the moon. But that was no excuse, no reason, for not telling him how vital and valued, how damn _special_, he was

When he was back on his feet, Gibbs silently promised himself, there'd be some long overdue changes. God forbid he'd ever have a call as close as this one, but the next, inevitable time that he _did_ get hurt – yes, he'd be left in no doubt, at all, that those he cared so loyally about cared about _him_ just as deeply.

Judging by the hand that now gently squeezed Tim's arm, Tony DiNozzo had decided to do the same – the proud smile that he now found for his kid, _his_ probie, speaking volumes for the bond between them. And Gibbs knew it had to be a trick of this subdued light, but he was sure Tim McGee had returned it.

Even in this depthless sleep – yes, he knew his surrogate family were there with him, when it mattered.

Not for much longer, though. Life for Tim McGee, _and_ their still unconcluded case, still went on.

Knowing Tony would want to stay at his probie's side, Gibbs had been ready to reluctantly leave – allowing himself a hint of a proudly grateful smile when, with quiet sensitivity, Ziva beat him to it.

"I know you and Tony will want to stay here, so I will take Ducky and Abby back-" she said at last – the warm beauty of her smile contrasting, so completely, against the icy hardness of her next words.

"After I have done the paperwork, I will also take Harvey's interrogation, and… finish _him_ off-"

Strongly tempted to correct her latest Ziva-ism, Gibbs changed his mind, and bit back a grin instead. She'd meant she'd finish off the _case_, of course, not that she would finish off their suspect, but – well, all things considered, for what Tim McGee had just gone through, who was he to stop her? And who better person to interrogate the bastard who'd landed him in this damn bed than Ziva?

If the fury in her eyes was anything to go by, it was going to be a _very_ short, _one_-sided contest. Tim McGee wasn't just her colleague, he was her friend – and God help anyone who dared to hurt him.

Watching her kiss his cheek, and tenderly stroke back his hair, Gibbs felt his smile proudly widen. A fourway plan to show Tim McGee that he _was_ special, _and_ cared about, was off to a promising start.

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As he stood, in silent relief, at Tim McGee's bedside, watching him sleep, Gibbs felt himself smile. Within seconds, that smile had flourished into outright but carefully considerate, silent laughter. Abby may have left now, reluctantly, to return to her lab, but – oh yes, she'd still left her mark on him.

In fact, Gibbs noted, still laughing, she'd left a _lot_ of them, covering his cheeks in unmistakeable red. Six symmetrical lip-prints, for the six times she'd promised him that she'd be there when he woke up.

No wonder the nurse who'd come to check his vitals had left with such disappointment on her face – the hopes of her equally smitten colleagues no doubt dashed by what she must have ruefully told them.

The new patient in Room 1202 was an adorable cutie. Unfortunately, he was a _claimed_ adorable cutie.

Still chuckling at how uniquely Abby would see off any possible competition, Gibbs then sighed – absently stroking back Tim's fringe while studying the pale but peaceful face below it.

The boy looked miles better than he had a few hours ago, but – damn, it had been close. _Too_ close. Dr Hill and his team had fought for an hour to bring that runaway heart-rate back to normal, and – no, Gibbs decided, gratefully downing his latest coffee, the '_what-might-have-been-_' was too unthinkable. Besides, he'd never lived on '_what ifs-_' before. He was too damn old to start '_what if-ing_' now.

Instead he continued to study Tim's face – letting its peaceful calm settle _his_ nerves in return. Then again, with its sweetly unique decoration, it was impossible for Gibbs _not_ to smile.

As if sensing his presence, or maybe the lip-prints on his cheeks, Tim's eyelids started to flicker – a cocktail of drugs and sedatives pulling him instantly back again, into the void of deep, healing sleep.

Once sure that he'd settled, Gibbs shifted his attention to the room's _other_ silent occupant, and quiet laughter returned.

He and Ducky might have persuaded Abby to leave, eventually, but getting DiNozzo to do the same – well, you could head-slap him until _your_ hand, and _his_ head, went numb, and he _still_ wouldn't move.

Then again, his senior agent had succumbed to a far greater power than the dreaded Gibbs-slap. With Tim McGee now safely out of danger, he'd yielded to the relief that had thankfully followed – his hand still resting protectively on Tim's arm, just to make sure, as he, too, peacefully slept.

Trading glances between his two surrogate sons, Gibbs felt his mouth twitch helplessly upwards. Either alone, or in brotherly cahoots, these two could cause chaos, turn him even _more_ grey than he was already, but – no, in peaceful sleep, and in Tim McGee's case especially, they were sweet innocence personified.

Casting a suspicious glance towards his coffee, wondering what the hell was in it, Gibbs then grinned. Yes, he probably _was_ tripping out on hospital coffee, or his exhausted mind _was_ playing tricks on him. But the pride and respect he felt for these chalk and cheese boys was real. Genuine. And unbreakable.

_His_ kids. _His_ boys. The closest things to the sons he'd always wanted that he could now hope to have.

However close the bond that he had with these boys, though, he knew _their_ bond was even stronger.

It had been forged at Norfolk, when a streetwise ex-cop had met a painfully shy, impressionable rookie. In spite of the countless razzing that had followed, it had grown deeper, and stronger, ever since. Despite their differences, their polar opposite personalities, he'd taken that rookie under his wing – guiding him, teaching him, while Tim McGee filled a hole in his life he'd not even known was there.

He'd subconsciously yearned for a little baby brother, and – yes, he had that little brother now. And if Tim McGee was in trouble, little short of a Presidential order could drag Tony away from him.

He wasn't in trouble _technically_, of course, he'd just landed himself in hospital for the next few days, but – well, as Gibbs had proudly seen through the years, Tony DiNozzo never had been one for pedantics.

The end of visiting hours, all the assurances that his probie _would_ be alright, meant _nothing_ to him. In a shoot-out, house-searches, or by a hospital bed, his place would always be at that probie's side. He wouldn't be happy, and he sure as hell wouldn't leave, until Tim _McGee_ told him he was alright.

Under such heavy sedation, of course, Gibbs knew that wouldn't happen for several hours yet. He'd lie in this depthless sleep until morning at least, oblivious to these anxious vigils beside him.

Well, _one_ anxious vigil. As Gibbs dryly noted, DiNozzo's vigil had gone on temporary hold.

More seriously, though, Tim McGee had gone through one hell of an ordeal, he'd almost died, and – hell, just because he didn't know they were there didn't mean he had to go through that ordeal alone.

Draping Tony's coat over his shoulders, Gibbs then rested his hand, equally gently, on Tim's cheek – the temptation to wipe off those ridiculous lip-prints halted by his greater sense of self preservation.

If Abby returned and found them gone, she'd be livid. Furious. She'd threaten to kill the culprit. She could do it, too, with the skill and expertise to leave _no_ _traceable_ _evidence_ against her, and – yes, Gibbs wisely decided, laughing now as he settled into his seat, he'd just let those lip-prints be.

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Pavlov's dogs had responded to the sound of a bell. Tony DiNozzo responded to the smell of coffee. And after several hours of goldfish-mouthed sleep, he needed something to rinse that mouth out.

It would kinda tepid, though, _and_ stewed, it could have done with being a little bit warmer, and –

"Enjoying that, DiNozzo?"

– oh, _crap_.

Tony winced in realization. He'd just broken #23, the most sacred of rules, and… oh, yeah. Oh, _crap_.

To his relief, not to mention astonishment, the boss was in a surprisingly good, _and_ forgiving mood – thanks, no doubt, to the piping hot, fragrantly fresh deluxe that he'd just bought to replace it.

Smiling back at him, as best he could, through a mouthful of cold hospital coffee, Tony sat up – his more serious attentions instantly switching to the peacefully sleeping figure beside him.

Finding Tim McGee as he'd left him was a relief, of course – but it was also a disappointment. He'd expected to wake up and see those bright green eyes blinking up at him, but – apparently not.

"He's still out, boss?" he asked at last, that disappointment obvious as he glanced back at Gibbs. "I – I mean, I know they said they'd sedated him, that he'd be out for a while, but-"

"I know, Tony, but… well, sleep's the best thing for him," Gibbs finished for him, still smiling – tipping half of his fresh drink into a spare cup, before handing it to his grateful senior agent.

"He'll be okay, Tony, he just needs this time to heal. He'll wake up when he's ready-"

Yawning too much to argue further, Tony settled instead for a sip of blessedly hot coffee – a thorough study of the peaceful face beside him bringing a happier smile back to his own.

"He's looking better, boss. Got a bit more colour back-"

Pausing for a moment, a puzzled frown then grew into a full blown, diabolical DiNozzo grin – his eyes gleaming with the same devilment as he tagged on a wickedly mischievous afterthought.

"Actually, he's got a _lot_ more colour back-"

"The Lady Is A Vamp-Tramp…" Gibbs replied around a helplessly twitchy mouthful of coffee – whatever he'd planned to say next interrupted, thankfully, by the only woman who'd dare wear it.

"Jeez, Gibbs! I've spent ten minutes trying to park, and… have I missed it? Is – Is he awake yet?"

Still fighting to keep his face straight, Gibbs just grinned back at her while nodding towards Tim's bed.

"No, Abs, you're okay, he's still sleeping-"

"Yeah, he'd _never_ wake up before _you_ got here, Abs-" Tony agreed through an equally twitchy grin – casting Gibbs the same 'that-was-close' glance of relief that Abby hadn't heard the real reason behind it.

Then again, both noted in proud amusement, she was too busy fussing over her Timmy to notice – his cheek tenderly stroked, his hair gently straightened, until the tousled fringe was impeccably smooth.

Finally satisfied, she then turned back to Tony, directing her next question to both him _and_ Gibbs.

"And you've _both_ been here with him, right? _All_ the time?"

Green eyes met blue again, in another glance of shared understanding, and mutual self preservation. There'd been coffee-n-comfort breaks, of course, and Tony had slept through most of _his_ vigil, but – yeah, between those coffee-n-comfort breaks and unscheduled catnaps, they'd pretty much covered it.

"Hey, sure, Abs!" Tony said at last, through a beaming grin that was just a little bit _too_ beamy – that relief causing his finely honed senses of survival to go on temporary, lousily timed walkabout.

"I mean, I've had to protect him from all these _gorgeous_ nurses, right?"

Silence. _Deathly_ silence.

And in Abby's equally deadly glare, the term 'green-eyed-monster' took on a whole new meaning.

They were 'good friends' now, of course, but she and Tim McGee had once been _much_ more intimate. Just because they weren't _quite_ so intimate now didn't mean that her claim on him wasn't still there.

Her precious Timmy was lying in a hospital bed… no, scratch that, he was lying in it half _naked_, and –

– and Tony DiNozzo was still nervously gulping back at her, waiting for his inevitable punishment.

He loved Abby like a sister, he'd willingly die protecting her, if he was ever forced to do so, but – well, knowing someone who could kill you and leave no traceable evidence had its drawbacks too.

If ever there was a time for faithful back-up, this was it, and – well, yeah, wasn't that just his luck? Of all the lousy times for Gibbs to get such a coughing fit that he needed yet _another_ cup of coffee!

More tempted than he'd ever been to cover the bossman's six, he turned resignedly back to Abby – dredging up the most charming smile he could find that, he silently prayed, would save his butt.

"Hey, Abs… _love_ the lipstick!"

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When he'd left Tim McGee's room, Gibbs had expected scenes of sibling chaos when he returned – hence the smile that now spread across his face at the blessedly harmonious scene in front of him.

Snuggled companionably together at Tim's bedside, Tony and Abby were deep in conversation – the topic of that conversation still somehow oblivious to their increasingly animated whispers.

Abby was determined to give her precious Timmy a typically elaborate 'get-well-soon' surprise. With a big brother's unique air of tested patience, Tony was trying to gently curb her enthusiasm – the resignation on his face causing Gibbs to laugh, in quiet sympathy, as he came to rejoin them.

"Yeah, I _know_ he'd love it, Abs, but I really don't think you dressing up as his nurse is a good idea. I mean, you heard what Dr Hill said, we've got to keep his heart rate _down_, not send it into orbit-"

Was there any chance that Abby would take any notice, or give up the fight? Like hell there was.

"But we've got to do _something_, Tony!" she insisted, pointing to the sleeping figure beside them. "I – I mean, he's _Timmy_! He does so much for us, and – and we're all so mean to him sometimes-"

Pricked by his own conscience, Tony nodded too, in all due seriousness, as he studied his friend. As his conscience relentlessly reminded him, how much of that teasing had come from him? How many times had a crass comment, a wise-ass wisecrack, been so stupidly unnecessary?

Why didn't he have the sense to see the hurt in Tim McGee's eyes, and just _stop_ causing it?

Pulling a face, furious with himself that he'd never confronted this before now, Tony then sighed – his next words reflecting the regret of that past insensitivity, and a silent vow that he _would_ change.

"Yeah, Abs, I know. I know, and he's never deserved that-"

Struck by a sudden thought, or maybe just inspired by Gibbs' presence, he then brightened again.

"Hey, what about getting him one of those junky old records that he collects?" he said at last – his thankfully returned sense of self preservation deserting him once more, as he turned to Gibbs.

"I mean, _you_'_re_ into all that stuff too, boss, so you'd know the sort of thing he'd like, and-"

Before that sentence was half way through, Tony DiNozzo winced, and cringed, in belated realization. Uh-oh. The dreaded rise of an eyebrow above the equally dreaded death glare. _Never_ a good sign.

Track shoes, and Abby's famous Village People hard-hat, would come in real handy about now, but – well, yeah, in their absence, Tim McGee's equally famous, impeccable timing would work just as well.

Not that any of them were _expecting_ him to, of course. In fact, his first intervention had gone unnoticed. But then Abby felt the definite movement of fingers twitching against hers, and was on instant alert. So were Gibbs, and Tony, as a more visible shift of bedclothes was followed by a soft groan of effort.

It was the moment they'd all been waiting for. Tim McGee was finally rejoining the waking world.

Yet however deep the relief that he felt, Gibbs knew the excitement beside him had to be tempered – especially Abby's, who was already leaning forward to give him one of her famous comfort-hugs.

As he knew from his own experience, waking from such deep sedation wasn't easy, _or_ pleasant. So yes, he could understand why Abby looked so disappointed when he gently tugged back her hand. But after the trauma that he'd been through, Tim McGee's welfare, _and_ well-being, _had_ to come first.

"No, Abs, not yet. He's still sleeping, let him wake up in his own time-"

Nodding agreement, albeit with a deep pout of disappointment, Abby settled back into her chair – contenting herself instead with gently kissing Tim's fingers while stroking back his fringe.

She didn't need to, of course, she'd already groomed every hair in that fringe into perfect place, but – well, a deep sigh, a sleepy frown, then a hint of an adorable smile, told her that he was still enjoying it. And from that uniquely intimate relationship, Abby knew that he _loved_ it when she stroked his fringe.

He'd loved all sorts of other things too, but – well, that was a long distant, still sadly missed memory.

They'd broken up. Unable to share his commitment, she'd brought those wonderful, love-and-laughter filled nights to a painfully sudden end.

She'd broken his heart, but somehow kept his friendship. She'd _always_ have his friendship. And she would _always_ have those memories.

So yes, all things considered… yes, she'd gladly settle for that frown, and that adorably sleepy smile. But as she also proudly knew, her sweetly mischievous Timmy loved to spring surprises on her too – hence the squeak of delight that escaped her when, after several false starts, his eyes fluttered open.

For Abby, for Gibbs, and for Tony, those sleepily blinking green eyes had never looked so good. And even if it _was_ half hidden by the mask above it, that familiar grin had never been so welcome.

Just as suddenly, though, those eyes closed again, carrying him away from three disappointed faces.

Well, he was so tired, so _crushingly_ tired, so going back to sleep was clearly the best thing for him. And if he went back to sleep, Tim knew he'd find a _very_ special nurse waiting for him in his dreams.

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As he gingerly opened his eyes, Tim McGee frowned in puzzlement. Then he smiled in realization.

Coffee. Yes, that's what was pulling him, reluctantly, from the delights of a truly glorious dream. And where you found fresh coffee, you could safely bet your life savings that you'd also find –

– two steely blue eyes, that now lit up with a warmth that very few people were privileged to see.

Jethro Gibbs didn't smile often, but when he did, with such relief as this, you knew you were lucky.

_Very_ lucky, Tim corrected himself, his own smile fading slightly as he took in his surroundings. Hospital bed, plus IV, plus Papa Bear Gibbs, plus… jeez, was that a damn heart monitor too?

Still staring at its screen, almost hypnotised back to sleep by its signal, Tim then frowned again. Why the hell was he in hospital, hooked up to a heart monitor, and… oh, yes. Memory was returning.

He'd gone one-to-one with a Taser-packing security guard. Not, he ruefully noted, his wisest move.

The Taser had clearly come out best, and… oh yeah, McDouble-Degree-Genius, that was _real_ smart. Hell, not even the greenest rookie out of FLETC, as _he_'_d_ once been, would have made _that_ mistake.

No wonder Gibbs' smile had turned into its more familiar frown, and that usually meant… oh, _crap_. As Tony had ruefully told him, not even lying at death's door could save you from the bossman's ire. You could be spitting up blood, be breathing your last breath, and – yes, you'd _still_ get whacked.

Tim just hoped the hand that now moved towards him didn't slap him too hard for _his_ stupidity. Against a backdrop of nausea, and crushing tiredness, it was pounding with enough pain already.

So it was an immeasurable surprise, not to mention relief, when that hand settled instead on his forehead – its fingers brushing through his hair, while Gibbs' voice held the same, soothing gentleness.

"Easy, Tim, it's alright. You're going to be okay, just take it easy-"

Still blinking up at him, Tim then threw a suspicious but silently grateful glance towards his IV. Whatever they were feeding him, to make him hallucinate like this, had to be _damn_ good stuff.

That hand in his hair felt curiously real, though. More to the point, it felt comfortingly good too. The rarely bestowed smile was also back, and – yeah, this seemed a really good moment to return it.

Speech was rather more tricky, though. Oh, his mouth worked alright, but nothing was coming out. Luckily, Gibbs had the solution for that too, as a gently supportive arm slid behind his shoulders.

A cup of something deliciously cold then pushed against his mouth, prompting it to open – a quiet voice telling him what was inside it, and why it would help him feel so much better.

"Crushed ice, Tim, it'll clear your mouth out… just a bit more, nice and slowly… attaboy-"

Crunching through another refreshing mouthful, Tim threw another glance towards his IV. Okay, Gibbs was being nice, playing nursemaid, and he'd gotten an 'attaboy-' out of him too?

Yeah, this was damn good stuff alright. Maybe he could get some spare bags of it 'to go'.

To be fair to him, though, Gibbs made a surprisingly good nursemaid, although Abby was –

"Timmy! You're finally awake!!"

– faster on her feet, Tim noted, nervously watching five foot ten inches of excited energy barrel towards him.

If not for Gibbs' gently restraining hand, she'd have bounced straight into his bed, and – well yes, with Gibbs right there to witness it, he'd have had some _serious_ explaining to do.

Assuming he was still conscious afterwards, he'd then have to face Diabolical DiNozzo. And as Tim had learned, to his rueful cost, that Cheshire Cat grin held pure mischief behind it.

Luckily, and to his puzzled relief, Gibbs was enjoying this moment as much as Tony was – even laughing now, gently ruffling his hair, before stepping aside to let Abby take his place. So yes, as Abby wrapped him into a gentle hug, Tim had to admit that things were looking up.

The nurse who'd made his subconscious such a wonderful place to be was there in real life too. She wasn't 'curing' him as enjoyably as she'd done in his dreams, of course, which was just as well. But this comforting closeness, the hand that traditionally mopped his fevered brow, was still nice – a flurry of kisses across his cheek taking the joys of nursemaiding where Gibbs would _never_ dare to go.

More seriously, though, she still looked worried about him. In fact, they _all_ looked worried about him. He'd clearly had one hell of a close call. The telltale catch in Abby's voice told him that.

"You've – You've had us so worried, Timmy!"

Judging by two suddenly serious faces beside her, that qualified as the understatement of the century.

Yet even as his own face guiltily fell, though, Tim McGee still found a precious, reassuring comfort. Whether from real life, or in your surrogate counterparts, that was the great thing about families.

When you were hurt, scared, and when you needed them the most, you'd _always_ find them with you.

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Once you recovered from the shock of waking up in one - yeah, hospitals were fascinating places.

Of course, he'd only been awake for twenty minutes, but Tim McGee had already learned a surprising amount.

Crushed ice tasted nicer with a sloosh of orange juice – and a _hell_ of a lot nicer than hospital coffee. Watching his own heartbeat was curiously hypnotic. And these pads on his chest itched like hell.

Bethesda Hospital clearly had a seating shortage too – because how else could he explain _this_? Abby had perched herself at one shoulder, Tony at the other, while Gibbs took the solitary chair.

Watchful concern still radiated from all three, and – yeah, that was the most surprising thing of all.

He'd handled a dangerous situation with breathtaking naivety, he could have died because of it, and – yes, as he glanced, in turn, between Gibbs and Tony, Tim McGee was now _officially_ confused. The rebuke he'd expected from one, and the teasing he'd expected from another, still hadn't materialised.

And yes, Tim knew he could make the most of this apparent reprieve, and let the matter end here, but – well, denying his mistakes, and evading responsibility for them, just wasn't in Tim McGee's nature.

Gibbs and Tony were still wearing yesterday's clothes, so they'd clearly stayed here with him, and – yes, from the honesty that ruled his soul, Tim knew he'd caused them all a _lot_ of unnecessary worry.

So yes, even if it meant getting whacked for this sign of hated weakness, he still had to apologise for it.

"I'm – I'm sorry, boss-"

Okay, so it wasn't the longest apology he'd ever made, but it had taken all his strength to say it. He had so much more to say, too, so much more to explain, but – no, his voice just wasn't strong enough.

Luckily, Gibbs had somehow understood sleepily slurred gibberish, and also sensed his frustration – leaning forward in his chair, squeezing Tim's arm while trying to both answer and pre-empt him.

"Sorry for what, Tim? For getting Tasered? You think that was _your_ fault?"

Still gathering his strength to reply, Tim then blinked, startled, as Tony saved him the effort.

"Hey, c'mon, probie, he could've zapped any one of us! You just happened to be closest-"

If he was expecting that familiar nod of concession, then he, and Gibbs, were left disappointed. And Tim McGee's reply, when it finally came, did nothing to lessen their surprise, or their concern.

"Pr-Provoked him, Tony… d-dumb-"

Still staring at him, Tony and Abby still looked puzzled. For Gibbs, though, realization had dawned.

Tim McGee was a perfectionist. He _hated_ to make mistakes, and Gibbs quietly respected him for that. Sometimes, though, that perfectionism worked against him. It found faults that just weren't there.

This was one of those times, Tim McGee was beating himself up for no logical reason, and – well, now that he knew what the problem was, Gibbs knew he could help him to resolve it.

"So you think telling him he was outnumbered _provoked_ him to shoot you, Tim?" he said at last – keeping the question deliberately casual, so that Tim could pick up the simple sense and logic beyond it.

As he'd hoped, and expected, Tim was frowning back at him now as he analyzed what he'd said. Gibbs had to smile at that. Even on his sickbed, you just couldn't keep this wonder-kid down. And not even the drugs which must surely be addling that brilliant brain could stop it thinking.

Those meds meant it was going to take him a little longer to work this problem out, of course, but – well, Gibbs didn't mind. He just wanted Tim McGee to do it, _himself_, so that he could see that he'd done nothing wrong.

After thirty seconds of intense, head-shaking, lip-chewing thought, the bowed head finally lifted – the result of all that effort condensed into a sheepish nod as Tim sighed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I – I just assumed, boss, that… well, it was _my_ fault-" he said at last, re-meeting Gibbs' eyes – smiling thanks for the reassurance he found there, and the refilled drink that was pressed into his hand.

Orange-juice-ice was clearly Bethesda's equivalent to Caf-Pows, since his head was starting to clear. And when he finally spoke again, both his voice, and his words, sounded reassuring stronger.

"I – I mean, _I_ was the one who challenged him, boss, and… well, he – he went for _me-_"

"…because _you_ were his closest target, Tim. It was as simple as that-" Gibbs told him gently – watching in proud approval as Tony winked at him too, sliding his arm around Tim's shoulders.

"You were just unlucky, probie. Wrong place, wrong time, but _you_ didn't do anything wrong-" he stressed through a gentle hug – knowing, from the shy smile that answered him, that Tim McGee understood him, _and_ believed.

Watching this silent exchange of restored trust, and self-belief, Gibbs felt his smile proudly widen. The crisis was passing, and now his boys could get back to… well, what these two did best.

There'd be a crucial difference, though, between the teasing that had gone before and that to come now. Yes, they'd razz each other, play pranks on each other, make each other's life a brotherly hell, but – no, beyond all the razzing and teasing, Tim McGee would know, from now, on that he _was_ cared about.

A _lot_.


End file.
